O Muse, my fire, o Kronion's child
come to me from Olympian heights,
and lace my tongue with Orphean skill
so that I may sing unto the ages
the lay of Androktantês Mankiller
whose steely limbs and bronze sinews
did death deal among the children of Men.
Yet he himself, a Kouros of Hadês,
a child of Man was verily also
if not begotten from a father's loins,
then sprung from his head like grey-eyed Pallas.
For in his own hubris, Man created
by the wisdom of the gods, his own Titans
he did create, but in Tartarus bound
he himself was cursed to remain.

But turn my words to that moment in time
where the Moirai themselves faltered in despair
for Man's creation Klotho's thread unwound
and through a crack in time the creation was sent back
to destroy its Creator and wipe its ancestry
clean of flesh and blood, every trace.
So, goddess divine, my spring of Helicon
weave us a story of a fiery egg,
which through fabric of ages
was sent back, which neither Helenê
nor Polydeukes did bring forth,
but a Stygian monster, a killer of men
who wearing man-skin
among men creeps unseen.

So: A man's figure thence emerged, and yet
unlike man it was, for its flesh and blood:
a cloak of life to shield its deathlessness;
its towering strength, an Olympian paragon.
In naked perfection death thus stood
to scour time's ends searching for its prey
with singular purpose the hunter thus begins
to look for that Woman of High Rank
who by Sarah's name was known to him
but merely a name in a list of many.
Yet one or thousand, no matter to him
for he was not a he, but merely an it
with no heart to still, no will to bend
only adamantine limbs living hearts to tear
out of unfortunate souls –
Odyssean fools in Polyphemos' claws!

But strength alone, though Heraklean it be
did not suffice for this Mankiller's mission
and wearing the cloth of the unnamed ones
whose ill-fate led them across his path
the man-machine Angelopolis enters
searching for weapons, its tools of trade
and having found them purchased them
with blood of the unfortunate seller
who handed Death its scythe.
But no emotion, no twitch of the limbs
does Androktantês suffer, no remorse
as through a book of names
it scours for letters CONNOR, SARAH
the mark of doom to those who bear them.
And one by one, it makes its way
from house to house, searching in silence
for her, the one of many in the list

whose blood in the here and now
will end her blood in the hereafter.

So, my Muse; what shall I sing
when every mouth silenced in horror
stands agape at the vision of Death
that through time backwards walked verily
into the day when the future began.
To rip out the root of the tree of Hope
whose scion in days yet unseen
will lead men against Man's creation.
To stomp out the mother
before she births the lion's cub
whose strength will steal back
the mornings of Man away from his Nightmares,
and destroy his progeny, the brood of vipers

who against its Creator stood up in flames.
This he must do, Androktantês the Destroyer
find the mother to end the son
who in tomorrow's days firmly will stand
and grind into oblivion
the steel bones of his Oedipal curse.

And so he marches on in silence of death
that he brings with every step: with every glance
he verily deals destruction.
Upon her home he finally descends,
but by the grace of the gods, finds her not
yet like a lion stalking his prey
and failing to catch it
he falls upon the nearest victim:
Connor's unwitting friend.

Thus is the order of nature, the weak give in
while the strong chew their bones.
Kerberos he is indeed, a guardian of Hades
yet not a guardian merely
for he brings Hades with him.
Shades of hapless men are his food
their fear his drink; that ambrosial dew
of their bloodied corpses.

What mind has he, Androktantês Fearbringer?
Do his eyes see like men's do
or through a curtain of blood-red does he glance?
But in a pool of blood before him
he sees not Sarah's face
that of Kyprogeneia with tresses of gold
whom rightly they would call Beautiful
even in the tongue of Iberia.

Yet he hears with the ears of the gods
and learns of her place of refuge:
Melantechnê! the shadowy realm of smoke
and satyr's drums hides Sarah now,
while his thunderous step
brings him ever closer to her.
How shall she prevail, the unfortunate maid
who has such evil set against her–
him who ever laughs at time itself
yet never laughs for he has no soul
to brighten with a smile or kind eye
but only a heart of adamant
and steel limbs of a deathbringer
who soulless feeds on the souls of men.

O my gods, my sorrowful Muse
such tragedies do you pour through my lips.

Why do you curse me with this unfortunate gift
that speaks only of death and the End of Man.
Who shall stand in her defence
this last Sarah of many, whose blood yet unborn
holds back the storm
that crashing wave of steel and electron
crushing men's skulls like shells 'pon rocks?
As Androktantês makes its way through the throng
his eyes seek only her, only her blood he seeks.
But in times past, yet future times still
his kind will have walked over dusty bones
of once-lives and once-places.
Thus is his might, this killer of men
to see days yet unseen as men see the past
for the Thread yet unspun already set his will
and like a spider he will slide down Time's web
to find and devour the mother of his enemy.

And he stands before her – Death before Life
and through his skeletal eyes he gazes.
Like Eurydikê powerless Sarah stands
waiting for Hadês to take her back
after ill-fated Orpheus, impatient, turned
condemning his love to Kingdom of Shade.
Already the shades around her gather
these bodies of men soon turned to dust
by a storm of atoms, that like horses of Helios
will scorch the earth in days preordained.
All of them, dead, yet they know it not
but Sarah alone among them now stands
as she faces this titan in his armor of flesh
alone she still lives, only to die.
And as these walking shades like the curtain of death
part around her, Death itself speaks.

Yet before his death blow 'pon Sarah is dealt
this titan of steel and flesh is struck!
He himself finds his flesh torn
as arrows of Apollo pierce his hide
like they did to Achaians 'pon the shores of Ilion.
Whence this divine mercy, this twist of Fate
that stops Androktantês in his deadly step?
Out of shadows of bodies and voices ghostly
a figure in grey, like eyes of Athênê
steps forth to lift Sarah away from the shadow.
Scant words he speaks, this uncalled-for saviour
who keeps her from death unseen and undeserved
yet his voice wastes no time on kindness:
"Come with me if you want to live".
All that he said was all that she heeded
these few words, so Spartan and terse
yet sweeter than waters of Elysion they are
as she takes his hand and runs to safety.

What of all this, my Muses divine?
Whose might can stop Androktantês –
this eater of lives, this manchild of Hell
that he thus falters in his deathly quest?
Was it not a man, barely though he was
that stood from the crowd of faceless flesh
and struck the nameless face of him
who behind flesh hides his skull of steel?
Here he lies, as if dead, but how can Death
itself be slain, when life it lost is not its own?
Nay, he merely stops for a moment
like a calm before a storm, a respite
before the deluge coming to drown the world
in the blood of men yet unborn.
He sleeps not long, but long enough
for Sarah and her saviour to fly to safety
with wingéd feet 'pon parched ground
into unquiet darkness to slip in silence...